My eyes sharply tuned to sounds,
ears focused on snippets of images,
excavating poetry
masquerading as the mundane. 

Images, concepts, stories,
tossed in a basket 
to be unfurled
into ribbons
of words
streaming
down
my
page. 

Late each night I wait to see
what calls out,
or settles in my mind,
to be given voice. 

So thankful June 
only has 30 days. 

I need sleep.